


9 Times die Mannschaft Couples Lied to One Another and 1 Time They Didn't

by tempered_rose



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, FIFA World Cup 2014, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Funny, German National Team, Implied Relationships, M/M, Old Friends, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of nine couples who tell lies to one another, white lies or bigger ones, that's up to you to find out. And then there's one couple who are (shockingly) honest with one another…but who is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	9 Times die Mannschaft Couples Lied to One Another and 1 Time They Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> This originally was 'FIVE times…' but Fira made this longer. I blame her. *nods* Please read and review, criticisms are welcome as long as they're constructive. I hope you enjoy ♥

**Ten.**

It was kind of cute how intently Thomas was looking for his handheld Game-station X-boy Play-box thing, Miroslav thought as he watched Thomas rummage through his bag. Clothes and shoes were flying everywhere—Miro had to duck from a pair of wayward trainers twice already, and he’d caught one pair of boxers before it hit him in the face—as Thomas looked for it and Miro thought it was endearing.

“Miro,” he whined and pouted as he looked over his shoulder at the older man leaning back into the pillows on the bed. “I can’t find it.”

“Well, how about you come sit with me and we can watch the television or something?”

Thomas seemed to debate that for just a fraction of a second before he was moving over and bounced his body onto the bed next to the striker. Miroslav smiled and casually dropped his arm around the boy as he let the young man find something to watch. He didn’t personally care what was on the T.V., he’d gotten what he wanted and that was a young hot boy sitting next to him; the fact that it was Thomas made it all that much sweeter.

“You haven’t seen it, have you?” Thomas asked after he settled on some American crime show.

“Seen wha—oh, no, I haven’t.” Miro lied with a smile and Thomas sulked again but Miroslav brushed his lips lightly against Thomas’ temple, making the boy smile shyly but happily at the same time. “I’ll help you look for it later, ok?”

Thomas nodded slowly but he was already ensnared in Miroslav’s trap and the older man brushed his lips against Thomas’. He wasn’t going to confess that he knew precisely where the electronic annoyance of a device was hiding—behind the spare rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom under the sink—because he wanted exactly this, a few moments with Thomas where the boy was finding other uses for his fingers and his mouth other than punching buttons or talking.

Miroslav only felt a little bit like a dirty old man, but it really only was a little bit of such a feeling.

**Nine.**

Philipp considered himself a pretty easy-going guy. Sure he could be a little serious some—most—of the time, but he didn’t really get stirred up much and it took a lot to do that. It wasn’t his fault if things being in a certain disorder or imperfection riled him up to degrees of annoyance that were astronomical. It really wasn’t his fault; it was just that he liked success, and he liked winning, and he liked things to be perfect.

He had his things arranged a certain way. They said he suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder, but really, he was just _organized_. He had his socks on one side of the dresser, underwear on the other. Ties went in the second shelf next to his not-so-fancy dress shirts—all folded precisely before they were placed there. Shoes were all aligned with their toes pointed inward to the closet door, everything hung up and in its place.

He brushed his teeth immediately following his nightly shower, then he would go to the bathroom, turn the lights off and then he’d go to bed—always, _always_ , on the left side because the sun would get in his eyes if he ever slept on the right—and he’d wake up at precisely six in the morning and begin his day.

Why was that so hard for everyone to understand?

Unfortunately, Per was not so organized as he, which made their relationship that much more complicated.

For a start, when buttering his toast, he always puts the jam on first _then_ the butter. If that wasn’t bad enough, he left his shoes wherever he kicked them off. He had _a_ bottle of shampoo in the shower and it was turned however it was whenever Per set it down, _not_ facing-forward where you could actually _read_ what kind of product it was.

Philipp didn’t mind so much the disorganized symmetry between their heights; he was a short man, he understood that some things couldn’t be helped—how you felt about someone was one of those things—and there was a pleasant niceness in the symmetry of being exactly one-foot apart and that was good enough, even if it wasn’t so practical in actual application.

But the one thing that Philipp almost couldn’t stand, the one thing he had almost ended their relationship over occurred on the night that they spent their first together. They hadn’t even ended up having sex, but they had come upstairs after having watched television for a while before Per stopped inside the doorway and had looked down at Philipp.

“Do you mind which side of the bed I take?”

Well it would have been rude to actually say anything, so Philipp suppressed the urge to grit his teeth and say ‘ _If you touch the left side I’ll stab you_ ’ and he shook his head instead.

“No, I don’t mind.” He put a smile on his lips and Per echoed it…right before he kissed Philipp good night and headed for the left side to pull the sheets down and get in.

**Eight.**

Mario loved the giant goalkeeper, he really did. He missed him when he was a way in Italy more than he could ever properly say in words. Manuel had missed him too, he said every time they spoke, and he promised a present the next time Mario came back to Germany for a visit.

Excited at the prospect of a gift—he was _really_ hoping that Manuel wanted to try something new in bed, he could almost feel the kinkiness building inside of him—Mario arrived at the Munich airport with even more cheer in his step than usual. Greetings were exchanged, hugs were given, kisses given later in the car when there weren’t so many people around, and Mario smiled cheerfully at Manuel in the keeper’s car.

“I have your present at home. I really hope you like it.” Manuel said almost shyly and Mario let an easy grin cross his face.

“I’m sure I will.” He licked his lips, giving a suggestive and seductive glance at the blond and Ducky’s cheeks reddened. Mario liked when Ducky was shy.

When they walked in the front door of Manuel’s house, Mario felt a little disappointed when he didn’t see a kinky sex dungeon in the living room. Perhaps he’d installed one downstairs? Mario was led through the house and Manuel stopped in the dinning room and he shifted awkwardly.

Mario smiled a little when he looked at the table set for dinner for the two of them. He wasn’t quite so disappointed because Manuel had tried something for him. He leaned over and gave the blond a kiss and thanked him.

It wasn’t until after everything had been eaten, and Mario had eaten his portion, he really had, that Ducky served dessert. To Mario’s dismay, it wasn’t himself served up with whipped cream covering his body.

Mario took one bite of the pie that Manuel beamed over and he wasn’t so sure if he smiled or grimaced. He hoped it was a smile.

“Do you like it? I spent the most time on it.” Manuel rocked on his heels anxiously. Mario nodded and forced himself to swallow.

“Best pie I’ve ever tasted.” Mario smiled and made a face only when Ducky turned his back to go sit down.

There were some things that Nutella really _shouldn’t_ go on...

**Seven.**

“No, I love Star Wars. It’s my favorite.”

Mesut would never, ever forget the way Sami’s eyes lit up and he pretty much sparkled when Mesut said that.

Mesut just knew when he got home he’d have to hide all of his Star Trek posters and memorabilia before he let Sami come over. He’d also have to watch Star Wars for the first time since he had no idea about anything that Sami was going on about…

**Six.**

Marc tried to push the hurt away. Now they’d be rivals and it wouldn’t be quite the same. Not with a rivalry as big as the one that separated and divided Barcelona and Madrid. But how could things be the same with Toni playing in the capital and Marc on the coast?

“It’ll be the same, won’t it?” Marc asks quietly and watches Toni’s face the way he would watch an advancing striker who is looking to sneak in a goal. “We can make it work and have things be the same, can’t we?”

It isn’t the smile Toni gives him that’s a little bit hollow that tells Marc he’s lying before the words leave his lips. It isn’t the twitch in his body as he ever so slightly slips away from Marc, and perhaps he’s slipped away forever?

“Of course it’ll be the same. I’ll love you in Spain as I love you here.” Toni says but Marc knows it’s a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie never the less.

Toni’s eyes don’t quite meet his and there’s a wall of hesitation and uncertainty there and Marc knows that it’ll all change once they move countries. He feels the disappointment begin to settle in his stomach and he just hopes that he can convince Toni that they really _can_ make it work. He’s a goalkeeper; he has big hands. He can hold on and keep them together, can’t he?

**Five.**

Julian had never wanted to kill anyone before, but he was definitely tempted to do so now. It was a little after four in the morning; too late to be awake, but way, way too early to actually get up and do things. Never mind that four o’clock came twice a day. Julian stared at the blue-grey ceiling above his head as he considered homicide.

Benedikt was quite happily asleep, somehow. Julian wasn’t quite sure how.

The younger man took the pillow from underneath his head and covered his head with it. That was no good; he couldn’t breathe. He sighed and shifted in the bed, restlessly, and stared at the alarm clock. That wasn’t helping. He could watch the minutes ticking by and he felt even less-likely to go to sleep with the anxiety of knowing exactly how long it was till they both had to get up. It was too late to try a sleeping pill and he couldn’t kick Benedikt out of his own bed…

Julian sighed and closed his eyes. And just before he had almost, almost made it back to sleep…a loud sound came from the depths of Benedikt’s soul and Julian groaned before he pushed himself out of bed and draped a blanket around his body. He glared down at the captain before he turned on his heel and walked downstairs to sleep on the sofa.

Content at last that it was quiet, Julian finally fell asleep.

Later that morning, the smell of coffee tempted Julian out of sleep. Benedikt had placed a steaming mug of it in front of him on the table and some toast. The captain was reading the paper in a chair next to the sofa and Julian sleepily pushed himself up. Benedikt glanced up and smiled a little, though confusion was on his face.

“Why’d you sleep down here?”

Julian’s irritation kick started again. “You snore.”

Benedikt shook his head and laughed a little. “No I don’t, I don’t snore.”

Julian wanted to pour the coffee into his boyfriend’s lap. But he didn’t. He would desperately need the caffeine to get through the day since he’d gotten next to no sleep.

**Four.**

He should have won the World Cup with Germany as a manager, or at least the Euro’s. It’s a regret that lingers in his heart, but it’s not the only one. If he’d had a different life, if they both had, then perhaps he and Joachim could have made it work and they could have been together. But they hadn’t, and they had careers and families in two different countries now. That’s how life truly worked and he had accepted it, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He is happy that Germany won. He’s happy for the boys he helped rear in their younger years and he’s happy that the man he loved once, and still does, won such an achievement. He’s proud of them all. But he doesn’t wish that it had been him instead.

Jürgen stares out of the airport, looking unseeingly across the terminal, preparing to leave Europe behind and head home after the friendly in Dublin that the Americans just lost to a bunch of Irish kids. He hates that he can’t dominate and win matches the way Joachim can with his boys. He hates that he lives this life now, away from die Mannschaft and most of all Joachim.

An airport security guard is watching him a little bit curiously, perhaps he’s lingered in the security line too long. Jürgen blinks and flashes a smile.

“Are you all right, sir?” The guard asks and Jürgen nods, false smile still in place.

“Yes thank you, I’m fine.”

He picks up his bag and walks through the checkpoint to go wait at the gate with the others and he wishes he were headed to Berlin instead.

**Three.**

Mario is a little afraid when he sees Kevin for the first time since his transfer. He smiles at the other man and hopes that it’s enough. Kevin almost ignores him, but he gives a second glance that has Mario starting to say that he still loves him but Kevin shakes his head.

“I’ll never love you after what you’ve done.” Kevin brushes past and starts out to the pitch.

Mario almost, almost believes him. The hurt is there as if he did. But Kevin’s eyes are soft later, when they’ve kissed in the corridor after dinner. Kevin repeats what he says earlier, but Mario knows it’s a lie. One day Kevin will know that too and they’ll move on with their lives, together.

He just hopes it’s sooner rather than later.

**Two.**

Mats doesn’t _really_ care so much about what he looks like when he goes out. He will spend a little bit of time putting things that are vaguely color-coordinating together and he’ll spend a little bit on his hair and hope he looks clean at the least. He brushes his teeth and he makes sure there’s nothing sticking in them. All in all, it takes him at the very most about half an hour to be ready to leave.

Marco on the other hand…

Mats sighs and looks at his watch, again, and sees that they’re already running twenty minutes late. They’re only going to the cinemas after all so what’s the big deal? The room will be dark anyway, nobody is going to be looking at Marco. If only Marco understood that, Mats thinks and leans back on the bed.

He just had made himself comfortable when the bathroom door opens with a grand flourish and out comes Marco, dressed in an outfit that Mats thinks the word ‘heinous’ is still kind to call it. He smiles a little and sits up, just happy that they can finally _leave_ when Marco puts his hands on his hips.

“What do you think, how do I look?”

“Handsome, as always.” Mats replies and gives his blond boyfriend a kiss. He shakes his head but picks up the car keys. “Now let’s go, we’ve missed the previews…”

Mats never wants to see that shirt in Marco’s wardrobe ever again. Who wears purple polka-dots with leopard print pants in the year 2015?!

**One.**

It’s stupid, it’s cliché, but they’re doing it anyway. It’s Paris in the summer time and they’re taking a nice little boat ride down the Seine and it’s as perfect and as cheesily romantic as Bastian could ever think such a thing would be. What would be ever better (or worse, depending on how you look at it) would be if they were in a gondola and someone else was driving and singing to them as they went.

As it was, they were on a rather large dinner ship enjoying their cruise.

“Paris is beautiful.” Lukas says from across the table and for a change they’re both too awed at the tranquility of the scene before them to say much of anything.

It’s getting dark, the shadows are now black with the night coming in, but the sun still blazes orange behind the hills of the city as it clings to the last ounce of the day before it truly sets. The summer air is warm around them but not quite as warm as the lull-inducing glow of the lamps in the city as the night takes over the French capital. There’s a smell of flowers coming from somewhere, but Bastian can’t tell where but it doesn’t matter. He looks across the table and sees Lukas’ eyes focused on the city and he feels such an overwhelming amount of affection for the other man that he can’t quite put it into words.

Being with Lukas is better than winning any trophy, any championship in their game. Being with Lukas is better than scoring any goal, or achieving any triumph. Being with Lukas is his air, his heartbeat, his soul. Lukas is the other half of his puzzle, and perhaps without him, it’s why everyone says he’s lost his marbles. Lukas is his other set.

“I love you.” Bastian says, caught up in the moment.

Lukas’ eyes turn away from the city and he smiles, toothy and wide and Bastian loves it. Loves him.

“I know, back at you, bunny.” Lukas grins teasingly and Bastian tosses a snail into Lukas’ soup in retaliation for the nickname.

Lukas’ laughter is the best sound in the world as the boat continues down the river and Bastian knows it’ll always be laughter and honesty between the two of them for the rest of their days, and he’s more than okay with that.


End file.
